


thunderclouds

by bubbleteabunny



Category: Brooklyn Nine-Nine (TV)
Genre: F/M, Fluff, Humor, reader's got a cute dog
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-09
Updated: 2018-10-09
Packaged: 2019-07-28 17:36:59
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,226
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16246535
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bubbleteabunny/pseuds/bubbleteabunny
Summary: You’re out of his league and this world and maybe he’s being a bit dramatic, but his feelings for you are making his brain a little cloudy. He supposes it’s a good thing he’s never off-put by an overcast sky.





	thunderclouds

**Author's Note:**

> i love b99

The apartment building hardly stands out from the surrounding structures on the block, and is a little bland if anything, all dark-brick with steel fire escapes that clang noisily with hasty steps. Jake struggles to think how many times he must’ve driven past it, giving it no thought until today. Because weeks of investigation, of poring over case files and conducting interviews and hitting dead ends more than once, all of it has culminated to this very moment. Today, he finally nabs his suspect.

He’d driven his car to the location so as not to arouse suspicion, and now he’s parked across the street with a perfect view of the front entrance. A connection of his target that he’d brought in for questioning had pointed him in this direction in exchange for a lighter sentence, and Jake is almost shaking in equal parts anticipation and elation. He’s so  _close_ now. How  _could_ he fight off the adrenaline rush? Not that he wants to. And he can’t help the smile that forms on his lips as he exclaims—

“This is it, Rosa! We’re finally gonna catch that guy after all the running around in circles he made us do! Are you excited because  _I’m_ excited although I don’t know if you can really tell…  _Can_  you tell?” Jake’s voice gets more giddy with each word and he turns to glance at his partner in the passenger seat, flashing her his toothy grin.

Rosa’s expression remains thoroughly nonplussed, which is to be expected, but Jake would never stop trying to get her to share his enthusiasm. One time he’d managed to get a tiny smirk out of her, during a stakeout thirty-four days ago at 10:13 AM ( _yes_ , he’d checked his watch). It might have been a while since the last time she’d cracked a smile at his animated rambling that made him sound like a wind-up toy, but he figures that in the meantime, his excitement is enough for both of them.

“We gotta make sure he’s actually  _in_ there first,” Rosa points out, ever the voice of reason.

Jake waves a hand dismissively, as if to say  _Details, details_. “He’s there. The guy we interviewed says he’s always in his apartment until nighttime, and that’s when he hits the streets to deal. He’s gotta be stashing his supply in there.”

“Then let’s go pay him a visit.”

They take separate entrances into the building, Jake through the front, and Rosa through a side door. Jake makes a beeline for the elevator, but his shoulders deflate upon seeing the sign taped to it:  _Out of order._ Just perfect. He sighs heavily, eyes lifting to the ceiling as though he can see through it, can see all the flights of stairs he’s going to have to climb. The suspect lives on floor fifteen.

“Ah man…” Jake mutters, finding the door for the stairwell. “I didn’t do any stretches.”

Fifteen floors never felt higher. He’d been fine the first four floors, hyping himself up with things like  _You got this_ and  _See? This is a piece of cake_. He did it mentally, not wanting to waste breath and get winded as he ascended, but by floor seven (or was it eight?) he realizes he does not, in fact, got this, and this is the farthest from a piece of cake he can be. He stops keeping track of what floor he’s on by number eleven, and he thinks he’s about to collapse any moment. But then he spots the sign designating that he’s reached floor fourteen, and that gives him the final burst of energy to clamber up the last two flights.

He’s panting as he stumbles out of the stairwell and into the hallway, and he swallows hard, bending forward and setting his hands on his knees while he regains his breath.  _I really need to work out more_. Once his heart rate has returned mostly to normal, he stands up straight again and begins searching for the correct apartment number. He slows down when he sees the door of the target’s apartment already wide open.

His brows furrow and he treads lighter atop the carpet, hand poised and ready to grab for his gun if he needs it. However, as he steps into the doorframe and looks into the room, his hand drops back down to his side. Rosa already has the suspect in cuffs.

“Wha— _How?_ ” Jake questions. He hadn’t seen her while in the stairwell and had assumed she remained on the ground floor to cover the exits. How did she get here? “The elevator isn’t working.”

Rosa raises a brow, but before she can say anything, the suspect looks over at Jake. “The service elevator is,” he informs him.

Rosa nods. “What he said.”

“No way I’d climb fifteen floors on the reg.” The suspect laughs, and it’s quite the sight considering his hands are bound behind his back and he really should be the picture of guilt as Rosa finds the stash of drugs hidden by a false wall.

Jake groans, leaning against the doorframe, doing his best to not just slide down to the floor from exhaustion. Of  _course_ there was a service elevator.

———

The bust ends up being bigger than either of them had expected. All the blocks of heroin are enough to cover one of the tables in the briefing room. It doesn’t take long for the news to spread about Jake and Rosa’s most recent accomplishment, and photographers from the local papers stop by to take their picture with the drugs they’d recovered.

“Wait, Rosa, switch with me. I need to make sure they get my good side.” Jake takes up his spot to the right, and Rosa side-steps off to the left, to be where he previously stood. He beams for the cameras and in his peripherals he can see her face is still neutral, and if anything, a little unamused to be the center of attention. Without turning his head or dropping his smile (the cameras are flashing after all) he mutters “Come on, smile! Don’t you wanna look nice for the front page of tomorrow’s paper—”

“No.”

“Okay _._  That’s fine too.”

Jake spends the rest of his shift at his desk filing out the paperwork for the case, and as such, only notices the soreness of his muscles when he finally stands at the end of it. His calves ache in protest and he closes his eyes, barely able to suppress a quiet groan.  

Terry comes out of Holt’s office, a folder tucked beneath his arm, and he stops to observe Jake, who, too caught up in his pain, had failed to see him there. “You okay, Jake?” His voice is rife with concern.

“Huh? What?” Jake’s eyes open and he grins as he spots Terry. “Oh. Yeah, Sarge. I’m doing great! I am  _A-OK_.” He lifts a hand and brings his thumb and index together to form a circle, laughing and hoping his colleague can’t see the pain in his eyes.  _It really hurts to stand_.

Terry doesn’t look too convinced, but he lets it go. “Well all right. Have a nice rest of the night. And good job today.”

“Thank you!” When Jake backs away from his desk, prepared to go to his locker to grab his stuff, he almost stumbles, his leg muscles not fully prepared to support him. All the pain seems to shoot up at once, from his calves up to his knees and up his thighs. He takes a deep breath, walking slower this time, and at first he’s confident he doesn’t look  _too_  weird walking like this but if he’s being honest, the inelegant hobbling and his face contorting in discomfort (more like  _agony_ ) aren’t exactly subtle.  _It hurts even more to walk._

He’s the only one in the elevator at his apartment building, and he slumps against the railing, hands curled around it to brace himself as he stares at the red numbers counting off each floor he passes. He  _would_ say at least he doesn’t have to take the stairs here, but he didn’t  _have_ to take the stairs in the other building from earlier either; he just failed to consider a service elevator. So yeah,  _maybe_  he brought this upon himself (he totally brought this upon himself), but he is set on wallowing in self-pity, if only for tonight.

A ding signals his arrival and the metal doors slide apart. Jake pushes himself off the railing and traipses out into the hallway, and he’s a little sluggish as he walks along but there’s no need to be rushing at the end of the day. As he approaches his front door, he fishes his house key out of his pocket and slides it into the lock.

There’s a quiet jingling that Jake wouldn’t have heard if the corridor weren’t so silent. At first he pays it no mind, but then it starts to get louder as whatever the sound belongs to comes closer. Then it stops completely at the same time he feels a nudging against his legs and hears the unmistakeable noise of a dog’s sniffing.

He glances down at the large dog intently smelling his pants and his shoes and can’t help smiling. “Hello, dog I do not know.” His hand drops from the key, which is sitting in the lock, and he slowly kneels down to be at face-height with the cute canine. His muscles don’t like all this movement one bit, but he can’t say no to petting a dog. Especially one that’s so friendly.

Jake scratches it behind the ears and his eyes drop down to the collar around its neck. The tag must’ve been the cause of the jingling. He turns the tag until he can see the name on it: Finn. “What are you doing here alone, Finn?” he murmurs. He receives his answer almost immediately.

“Sorry, I hope he’s not bothering you.” You come up to the two of them and Jake lifts his head to look at you. You grin apologetically and he notices the leash in your right hand. “Usually I take his leash off when we get to our floor and he just walks straight to my apartment. Seems he got a bit distracted today.”

Jake smiles back. He’s still petting Finn, who appears to be enjoying it based on the lazy wagging of his tail. “No, it’s fine. He wasn’t bothering me.” Finn starts licking his face, causing him to sputter as he tries to make sure he doesn’t lick his mouth, and you giggle. The sound warms him all over. “Are you new here? Don’t think I’ve ever seen you around before.”

You nod. “Moved in a couple weeks ago. I’m across the hall, a few doors down.”

“Oh, welcome! Hope you and your furry friend are feeling at home.”

“We are. Thanks.” You grin brightly and something in Jake’s stomach flips at the sight of it.

“Well, I won’t keep you two any longer…” Jake tries to stand up, a hard emphasis on  _try_  because his leg muscles are shaky, and he nearly tips over. Finn jumps and takes a step back in surprise at the sudden movement and your brows furrow in worry as you outstretch your arms to hold onto him in case he actually does fall. His left hand flies up to brace himself against his front door, and the right he sets on his hip. He clears his throat and smiles awkwardly, hoping desperately that it looks like he’d  _meant_ to do that.  _Do what exactly?_ Oh. That’s right—fumble around like a newborn deer in front of the prettiest girl he’s ever seen.  _That._

“Are you all right?” you inquire gently.

The gentleness laced in your tone makes Jake’s heart twist to the point it hurts.  _No, I’m not_.  _Not when you talk like that._ But the thought doesn’t make it to his lips and instead he chuckles to diffuse the tension and waves a hand. “Yeah! Yeah… ’s fine. Don’t worry about it. Just been a long day of catching bad guys.”

Your eyes light up. “You’re a cop?”

“A detective would be more accurate, but yes, I am.” He shrugs offhandedly.

You smile back and it’s soft and there’s a glitter of  _something_ in your eye. Jake can’t quite place it and for all he knows, it might just be the glare of the lights in the hallway that causes it. Nonetheless, the longer he looks at you, the more he feels himself falling. He couldn’t say where. “Just knowing you’re here, I feel safer already.”

Jake doesn’t try to fight back his grin. “Glad I’m able to do that for you, miss,” he responds playfully.

“And do I get to know the good detective’s name?”

“It’s Jake.” He holds his hand out.

You shake it. “I’m [Name].”

In those couple of seconds it takes you to shake hands, Jake realizes he doesn’t actually want to let go. But he does, and he hates that he has to. He thinks he’d like to hold your hand forever. “It’s nice to meet you, [Name]. And Finn. You two have a good night.”

“You too.” With one last smile you bid him goodbye, and you murmur Finn’s name to get him to follow you. As you leave, you glance over your shoulder and tell him not to overwork himself.  _Feel better soon, Detective!_

The keys are still in the lock but Jake doesn’t go to unlock the door right away, remaining where he is for a few seconds more to watch you walk away with your fluffy white dog who is  _entirely_ too cute for his own good. And perhaps he just takes after his owner, who wears a white dress that sways with every step. Maybe you’re the white rabbit leading him to the rabbit hole and that’s where he’s fallen. He goes to bed that night thinking of you, and he knows he’s a goner.

———

Jake didn’t think he could be in any more pain that he was yesterday, but clearly, he was a fool.

His body feels heavy when he wakes up to the ugly sound of his alarm clock, and it takes a copious amount of effort to lift his arm to smash the snooze button. More effort than usual, anyway. The limb feels like dead weight and slides off the alarm clock, dropping and hanging down the side of the bed. Jake groans and he’s half inclined to fall back asleep, but he knows if he does, he won’t make it to work on time.

He makes it to the precinct by nine on the dot. He’d considered it quite the accomplishment that he was able to stand from bed today without his legs just giving out beneath him, and he powered through the dull throbbing of his muscles to walk as normal as possible (aka with none of that strange hobbling he did yesterday), but he still sighs with relief when he finally makes it to his desk and plops down. An office chair has never felt so comfortable.

Consumed as he is with work, eyes glued to the computer screen, he doesn’t notice Holt walking out of his office and over to his desk. Not until he drops what sounds like a stack of papers on it. Jake glances over to find it’s the day’s paper, with a photo of him and Rosa from yesterday plastered to the front. The headline reads  _THE 99 AT IT AGAIN!_

“You and Diaz were great yesterday, Peralta,” Holt commends, sliding his reading glasses off his nose.

Jake picks up the newspaper to get a better look at the picture and smiles. “Thanks, Captain.”

Even after Holt returns to his office, Jake continues to survey the photo. It  _is_ a nice snapshot, full of personality as it is, with Jake’s toothy smile and Rosa’s completely straight face. He skims the article and catches a glimpse of his name, right there in Times New Roman, inked on off-white newsprint. A ghost of a grin rests on his lips and he wonders briefly if you’ve picked up a copy of the paper. He wonders if you read it every day or if this latest edition is the exception because you’d spotted the headline and the picture in passing and said to yourself  _Hey, I know him!_  His chest swells with pride the more he thinks about it, and about what you might think.

“I recognize that smile.”

Jake furrows his brows in confusion as his attention is pulled away from the newspaper. Charles is studying him closely from his own desk. “What smile?”

“ _The_ smile, Jake! You’re in love!”

“Wha—I—“ Jake stutters in shock at the bold declaration. “No!”

Charles isn’t buying into Jake’s refutation (not that it had been a very convincing one to begin with). He stands up and walks to Jake’s desk, voicing his thoughts aloud as he does, and the more that spill from his mouth, the more Jake is urging him to shush because there are others starting to look over at what’s going on and this is a subject he  _really_ does not want the whole floor to hear about.

“Who is it? Where’d you meet her?  _How’d_ you meet her?” Charles blatantly ignores Jake’s gestures to quiet down and Jake’s honestly not sure if it’s on purpose. Then Charles gasps. “Do I hear  _wedding bells_ in the distance?”

Jake groans and buries his head in his hands. “ _No, Boyle_. I  _just_ met her last night.”

“So? There  _is_ such a thing as love at first sight, you know. It happens for us Boyles all the time. In fact, I have a cousin—”

“ _Okay!_ I’m just going to stop you right there.” Jake forces out a laugh. “As much as I’d like to hear…  _another_ anecdote about one of many members of the Boyle extended family, I really need to get to work.” He points at his desk where there are multiple manila folders strewn about.

The smile on Charles’s face is sly. “All right, I get it. You’re shy about it. No problem with that.” He holds his hands up, palms out, to indicate that he’ll back off now. “But at least tell me this: what’s her name?”

This is better. One simple question. Nothing too personal. Jake takes a deep breath, grabbing a pen and tinkering with it as he looks over at his friend. “Her name is [Name].”

Charles nods and grins, satisfied to have at least one question answered, at least one itch scratched. “Well, she sounds sweet.”  

Jake watches Charles go back to his desk and tilts his head as he contemplates what he just heard. If only half-paid attention to, the statement would merit no extra consideration. But it doesn’t fly over his head so easily. He’d given no details about you to give Charles any reason to say what he did. And he’s not saying Charles is wrong by any means. In fact, Jake thinks he’s hit the nail on the head. You  _are_  sweet. He’s just curious as to how Charles had arrived at that conclusion with nothing more than a name to go off of. Maybe the name is enough of a giveaway, the kind that when you hear it, you can already imagine the charming smile to match. And as this occurs to him, he’s thinking of your own again, and it keeps him company as he begins to work.

He gets to the apartment building at the same time as yesterday, but he deflates when there’s no sign of you or Finn. He even moves slowly on purpose, taking his time ambling down the hallway and only grabbing his keys from his pocket when he’s right in front of his flat. After he unlocks the door and twists the knob, he pauses as if that’s the signal for you to make your appearance. But there’s nothing. It’s just him out here. That’s okay. Maybe you’re still at work or your walk with Finn is longer today. He could say it’s no big deal but that would be a lie. He’s bummed he doesn’t run into you again tonight. Or the day after. Or the next few days after that.

Jake reasons that maybe you’re busy, and he tries not to feel too bad about it. He has his own job keeping him occupied, but the reasons for working cases late into the night are blurry at best, and he doesn’t have much interest in sorting them out or putting them in focus. Was he here because there was no one else who could solve these cases? Or was he here simply to keep his mind off you?

It’s difficult to not think about you. Truthfully, it’s all he wants to do, but his frustrations make him want to his best  _not_ to because it’s been night after night of no luck and it’s more than a little disheartening. He hasn’t seen you, and he can’t quite muster up the courage to go and knock on your door, too nervous he’ll embarrass himself, tripping over his own feet or his words or both. It’s a vicious cycle. Every night he returns to his apartment, he lingers in the corridor, telling himself that tonight is  _the_ night. He’ll go knock. But he can never follow through.  _Maybe tomorrow_  he says.  _Maybe tomorrow._   

Apparently, some entity takes pity on him because one morning, he does run into you. Literally. He hits snooze too many times and on the fifth time he actually bothers to glance at the clock. The realization that he is now running  _incredibly_ late jolts him awake and he jumps out of bed. He’s on auto-pilot as he gets dressed and finds something small to eat, to hold him over until lunch. He’s scrambling to put on his shoes and grab his keys and wallet, and there might as well be a trail of smoke following behind him with how fast he’s moving. But it’s too fast, for as he exits his apartment, he collides with you.

You yelp in surprise, the impact nearly knocking you off your feet, but Jake is quick to hold onto you and keep you upright. He apologizes profusely, and he’s cringing on the inside because when the universe pushes you together again, after all his hesitation, he messes up anyway,  _and_ he messes up  _immediately_.

“Hey, it’s fine, don’t worry about it,” you assure him with a laugh and  _God_ , it sounds prettier than the birds chirping outside his window at the ass crack of dawn every day ever did.

“At least let me make it up to you,” Jake offers.

You raise a brow and hum in thought. “What’d you have in mind?”

“How about coffee tonight?”

It’s quiet for a moment as you watch each other. Jake purses his lips, unsure of what you might say because there’s still a nagging in the back of his head that you’re too good for him. You’re out of his league and this world and maybe he’s being a bit dramatic, but his feelings for you  _are_  making his brain a little cloudy. He supposes it’s a good thing he’s never off-put by an overcast sky.

And then you smile, and his heart seems to sigh. “Okay.”

The work day passes by quickly but not quickly enough. Jake glances at the clock constantly, expecting for hours to have passed but being left sorely disappointed when it turns out it’s only been minutes. If he were out doing fieldwork and investigations, he knows time would move faster, but there simply isn’t any case to work. He’s stuck at his desk filing arrests until he’s certain he won’t be able to uncurl his fingers from around his pen and he’ll be stuck with early-onset carpal tunnel.

Charles can practically feel how antsy Jake is, and he knows Jake prefers to keep you a private matter, but hey, he can’t help himself. “Thinking about your girl?” he pipes up.

Jake looks at him. “She’s not mygirl.”

“But she will be, won’t she? When you set your mind to something, you never let it go.”

At this, Jake chuckles and his eyes drop down to the open folder in front of him. “No, I guess not…” He clears his throat, returning his attention to Charles. “But if you must know, yes, I’m thinking about her. We’re grabbing some coffee later.”

“A date!”

“Well—”

“You are gonna do  _great_! She’ll love you, I know it. I am rooting for you the whole way, buddy.”

There could be no better cheerleader, Jake decides, and he smiles warmly at his friend’s encouraging words. “Thanks, Charles.”

The blessed hour of five in the evening finally arrives, and Jake doesn’t mosey around. He’s in the elevator and then out the building in what must be record time. There’s traffic on the way home, but that’s nothing new. It isn’t any less annoying, but the blows are softened as he thinks about the fact he’s going to be seeing you. You won’t just be engaging in casual conversation in the hall, exchanging how-are-you’s and have-a-good-day’s and other such niceties. No, tonight he gets to learn more about you, about your passions and dreams (and hoping as he listens to you speak of them that there’s a place for him in all of it).

He knocks on your door, three curt raps, and his heart rate starts picking up unexpectedly. He tells himself he’s  _not_ nervous, he will  _not_ let his nerves get the best of him, but his body doesn’t seem to want to listen. When it takes longer than five seconds for you to open the door, he freaks out, paranoid that he’d remembered your apartment number wrong. But then there’s the twisting of a knob and the creak of the door being pulled open, and you stand on the other side, with braided hair and a mint dress. Your smile is dazzling, and Jake finds it hard to breathe properly.  _Wow. You look great._

You laugh. “You don’t look so bad yourself.”

Jake blinks, and he realizes he’d said that out loud. His cheeks heat up as he chuckles bashfully. He stretches an arm out, in the direction of the elevator. “Shall we?”

The cafe he brings you to is nothing fancy, but it doesn’t have to be. You’re too caught up in each other to care about your surroundings. It’s rather noisy, especially as everyone pours in after school and work to relax, but it might as well be completely silent for both of you where you sit in the corner booth. Jake absentmindedly twists his mug of coffee around as you talk and the liquid inside goes cold as the minutes pass because he doesn’t actually drink coffee in the evenings. He should’ve ordered a hot chocolate or really, any other drink, but the thought takes a backseat to you. It’s hardly important.

He feels like he’s on a different planet when he’s with you. The butterflies in his stomach propel him across the universe to get there, to get to you, and he finds he doesn’t want to leave. And maybe you don’t want him to leave either. Because you talk to him so sweetly and the look in your eyes is so soft, and he thinks this is what lies at the bottom of the rabbit hole. Maybe this is your Wonderland. A system of stars to call your own. He considers himself lucky that you would share it with him.

As the night winds down, he walks you back to your apartment. You’re laughing at a joke he’d told you, and you sigh lightly as you approach your front door. Before you unlock it, you turn to him.

“Thanks for tonight,” you state. “I had fun.”

“Of course. I had fun too.” Jake smiles. There’s a second of hesitation before he voices his next thought, a hint of doubt still festering in him, but he thinks about how much you enjoyed being around him, invested in him just as much as he was in you, and that’s enough to kill any last bit of nerves. “I was hoping we could do it again sometime.”

You grin lopsidedly and Jake’s chest tightens. “I’d like that.” You tiptoe because you’re much shorter than he is, balancing yourself by setting a hand on his shoulder, and kiss him on the cheek. The brush of your lips along his skin is satin, feather-light and sending shivers down his spine. If you asked him to race to the ends of the earth, to catch the horizon, he’d do it. He’d do it in a heartbeat.

You pull away and your hand slides from his shoulder, and he’s already missing you even though you haven’t gone into your apartment yet. You unlock the door and glance back at him one more time. “G’night, Jake.”

“Good night, [Name].”

———

“Jake! You’re  _glowing_!”

Those are the first three words Jake hears as he exits the elevator, and he shakes his head with an amused smile as Charles intercepts him on his way to his desk. “Am I?” He decides to humor his friend.

“Tell me everything,” Charles demands.

Jake shrugs. “Not much to tell. Got some coffee, got to know her better. She’s a great girl.”

Charles nods approvingly. “And what are your plans for the second date? A home-cooked meal maybe? You know, I have this  _great_ recipe for some bat wing soup—”

“Um, I don’t think that’s a very good second date meal…” Jake tries his best not to recoil in disgust at the thought of a soup with bat wings in it, and also tries not to question the legality of obtaining the required bats in the first place.

“You’re right. Too ambitious. Maybe a sensible pasta to start with.”

“That sounds better.” Jake chuckles and walks to his desk. He shrugs off his jacket and drapes it over the back of his chair, and he’s about to take a seat when he remembers the question he’d had for Charles. “Hey, Boyle,” he grabs said man’s attention.

“Yes?” Charles comes to a stop by his desk, pausing on his route to the break room to pour himself a cup of coffee.

“You said the other day that [Name] sounded sweet. And I mean, you were right, but how’d you know that just based off her name? Did you guess?”

“No.” Charles shakes his head. “It was the way you said it, and the look in your eyes when you did. That’s how I knew she meant a lot to you.”

The answer is so concise and comes out so matter-of-factly, which hadn’t been expected at all, that Jake is unable to respond with anything beyond a dumbfounded “Oh.” He’s still standing there even as Charles continues to the break room. He mulls over what he’s just heard, in awe that he had been read so easily. And then it makes him smile because it would seem he’s an open book with how he feels about you, and he wouldn’t have it any other way.

(Okay, so maybe the Boyles really  _do_ know a thing or two about love at first sight.)


End file.
